


Click Skip and Die

by canufeelthemagictonight



Series: The Darcy and Jane Chronicles [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Actual voicemail of MTV Studios/Viacom, Bechdel Test Pass, Darcy Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Female Friendship, Female-Centric, Gen, Girl Power, Jane is a protective mama bear, POV Female Character, Panic Attacks, Science Sisters, Teratophobia, That stupid ad needs to die, Women Being Awesome, You are WRONG, You think Darcy's got it all together?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-15
Updated: 2015-07-15
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:23:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canufeelthemagictonight/pseuds/canufeelthemagictonight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They <i>made her feel small.</i> They <i>can deal with the consequences.</i></p><p>After a certain YouTube ad gives Darcy a panic attack, she and Jane decide to give MTV Studios a piece of their minds. In the process, Darcy must once again come to terms with the psychological condition that just won't go away.</p><p>Set sometime after Dark World. Science Sisters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Click Skip and Die

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing a fic with a character with irrational phobias/anxiety issues, so I apologize if the writing's not the best. I just heard about that stupid ad and got inspired to write this. I'm probably gonna edit this later anyway.
> 
> Also, the brief song snippet is from "Sparks Fly" by Taylor Swift.

Honestly, it’s a freaking _miracle_ Darcy’s still awake. 

She’s spent the last forty-five minutes on YouTube, watching a mind-numbingly boring lecture on astrophysics that Jane recommended to her yesterday. Now, she’s rubbing her eyes and wondering what the heck Jane ever saw in that guy. Not that the _subject matter_ was boring—it wasn’t—but the dude sounded like he was in a coma or something. He could probably make an alien invasion sound like the dam stock market.

But against all odds, she’s _finished_ the thing, and, well, she has to reward herself somehow. And adorable kitten videos are looking pretty good right about now.

So she types "surprise kitty" into the YouTube search bar and clicks on the appropriate link, more than ready for her daily dose of cuteness. As usual, though, the word “advertisement” pops up, which earns an eye roll from Darcy, but hey, that’s why God made skip buttons, right?

Then the ad begins. And it’s creepy as H E double hockey sticks.

A white face that looks like the spawn of Satan stares Darcy down, leering at her like she’s one of those pastries Thor likes. He (she? it?) whispers the same freaky sentence over and over, using a voice she’d expect from a bloodthirsty goblin. "Click skip and die…click skip and die…"

And Darcy Lewis, who tased the god of thunder, who faced portals and Dark Elves without breaking down once, has a full-blown panic attack.

With a piercing shriek, she shrinks back from the screen, her body shaking, her heart racing. She blindly fumbles out of her chair and lunges for the door, grabbing for the handle with sweaty palms. Her glasses tumble off the bridge of her nose, but she doesn’t even notice. _Have to get away,_ shouts the coherent part of her fear-scrambled mind. _Must run before it gets me!_

She finally gets the door open and is confronted by a face. It takes her a few terrified seconds to realize that it’s not a white murderous creepy Satan face, but rather a concerned Jane Foster face.

"Darcy?"

Darcy collapses against her friend, the mounting terror somehow sapping her strength. "Don’t—go—in—there," she chokes, hyperventilating into Jane’s cardigan.

"Huh?" Jane raises her eyebrows and gently nudges Darcy aside. "Darcy, what’s wrong?" 

"Jane, _don’t—"_

But Jane has already entered the room, and one look at the computer screen later, understanding fills her brown eyes. After a worried glance at Darcy, she steps toward the computer and grabs the mouse.

Darcy screams Jane’s name and sprints towards the computer, "click skip and die" still echoing through her head. A nightmare springs to life inside her—Jane being attacked by the white face of doom, a thousand red knives ripping her open. Her still, lifeless body. And the blood. So much blood.

_No. Not her. I won’t let you._

She snatches the mouse from Jane and throws it on the ground, pulling the scientist away from the computer.

But it’s too late. The skip button has been pressed. And Surprise Kitty is now acting appropriately surprised.

The initial rush of panic gone, Darcy collapses into sobs on the floor. She is dimly aware of Jane massaging her back and murmuring comforting sounds into her hair while various cat videos play in the background, but the fear of white faces and losing her boss lady still bounces through her insides like a tennis ball.

The part of her brain that’s managed to calm down scolds herself for letting this insanity happen again. _A grown-up woman, bawling over a dam YouTube ad? Darce, you freakin’ wimp._

 

She’s been a freakin’ wimp ever since age eleven, when she and Jessie and Rachel snuck into a PG-13 horror movie called _Revenge of the Soul Suckers, _or something like that. They expected to be scared, obviously—they even had a bet going on who’d scream first. But none of them expected an emotional breakdown. Especially not from Darcy "psshh what is this fear you speak of I’ve never heard of it let’s go egg Brett Fulton’s house at midnight" Lewis.__

But sure enough, twenty-five minutes into the movie, Darcy ran screaming out of the theater and collapsed into a dead faint right in front of the popcorn stall. Pete the Popcorn Guy raised an eyebrow and called an ambulance despite the girls’ protests, and next thing she knew, Darcy was stuck with severe teratophobia and a damaged reputation.

Being the stubborn child that she was, she spent much of her adolescence pushing the metaphorical envelope in an effort to "fix my dam condition," as she put it. But no matter how many movies she insisted on going to or how hard she tried to keep herself together, the end result was always the same—a panic attack the moment she saw any sort of frightening figure.

It wasn't until her freshman year in college (and an especially embarrassing incident involving a liter of soda and a particularly snooty sorority) that she decided to cut her losses and stop trying to cure herself. She's stayed away from horror movies ever since, but occasionally the craziness happens even when she's _not_ flirting with fear.

Jane knows, of course. How could she not? She's seen it in action once before, when Darcy walked in on her chilling out with a zombie apocalypse flick. (Yes, it technically wasn't a horror movie, but in Darcy's defense, whoever was in charge of makeup had _way_ too much time on their hands.) Luckily, the boss lady was _incredibly_ understanding and even was nice enough to wrap a still-shaking Darcy in a blue fluffy blanket with the solar system on it. In fact, when she thinks about it, it was probably somewhere around that night that Darcy started considering Jane a honest-to-goodness friend.

But that was ages, ago, way back in the B.T. (Before Thor) days, and Darcy hasn't had a freakout since.

That is, until today.

Trust a freakin' _ad_ to destroy her lucky streak.

 

"You all right?" asks Jane for what has to be the fiftieth time in fifty minutes.

Darcy, now completely recovered and huddled in yet another blanket (pink this time), rolls her eyes at her. "I'm _fine,"_ she snaps, also for the fiftieth time. "I'm not made of _china,_ you know. I can _handle_ the stupid ad."

Jane nods and stares at her plain brown shoes, and Darcy instantly feels guilty for being so sharp with her. She really doesn't _mind_ her friend's mama-bear instincts; as a matter of fact, she's never had a friend (boss lady or otherwise) who cared about her as much as Jane does. And the feeling's mutual. _God,_ is it mutual.

But despite her chatterbox reputation, Darcy isn't all that great at talking about the deep stuff. The words she'd give the world to say— _no, I'm not fine, please don't leave me, I'd be a perpetual mess without you_ —stick in her throat.

"What kind of sicko would _make_ an ad like this?" Jane's voice shakes with anger. "And put it on _YouTube,_ no less!"

"Jane, it's _fine,"_ mutters Darcy, but it's a halfhearted interruption and they both know it.

Jane continues ranting. "Was that somebody's idea of a _joke?_ Because freakin' death threats are _not freakin' funny!"_ Her hands ball into fists. "And if they _seriously_ think I'm going to waste my money on their crummy movie after _that—"_

"TV show."

"Whatever!" At this point, Jane's protective rage reaches its climax, and she begins to ferociously punch her pillow as Darcy looks on in a strange mixture of surprise and awe. "I don't care _who_ the freakin' heck they think they are, they can keep their sensationalist trash as _far_ away from me as freakin' possible, and then once they're freakin' done with that, they can _go die in a freakin' fire!"_ She releases the pillow and collapses back on the couch. "And I'd say that to their freakin' faces, too, if I had the chance..."

An ideas flits through Darcy's head, and she turns to Jane with a mischievous smile on her face. "Maybe you do."

 

As she adds the final zero and hits the little green call button, Darcy feels an intense rush of vindictive satisfaction. Yes, she and Jane are adults (with multiple degrees, in Jane's case) and should technically be more mature than this, but after that panic attack those sadists game her, she literally couldn't care less.

 _They_ made her feel small. _They_ can deal with the consequences.

"Is it working?" asks Jane, her expression resembling that of an eager puppy.

Before Darcy can respond, an obviously computerized voice starts buzzing in her ear like a deep-voiced bumblebee. "Thank you for calling Viacom. If you know your party's name, press 1. If you would like to speak with an operator, please stay on the line."

Darcy's triumphant grin could put the Cheshire Cat to shame. "Got 'em."

Jane barely has time to mutter the word "good" before the voice starts up again.

"All operators are currently busy," it drawls, which earns Viacom another Darcy Lewis Eyeroll. "Please stay on the line and we will be with you shortly."

"Ugh," moans Darcy. _"Recordings."_

Jane winces in sympathy.

They stand there waiting—Darcy with clenched hands glued to the phone, Jane nervously chewing on a strand of brown hair—for about five minutes before a harried male voice finally responded, "Viacom, can I help you?"

Darcy flashes Jane a brief thumbs-up before turning her attention to the conversation. "Yes, hi, my name is Darcy Lewis, and your lousy attempt at a cash grab scared the tar out of me."

The guy on the other end obviously has no clue what to make of this. "Excuse me?"

"Are you aware," Darcy continues, "of a certain YouTube ad used to promote that _Scream_ show of yours?" Just the thought of that awful ad makes tiny beads of sweat appear on her forehead. "White face, creepy voice, 'click skip and die?'"

"Lady, I have no clue what you're on about," snaps the guy. "I'm just the intern."

An ugly smile snakes across Darcy's face. "How convenient," she hisses, her voice low and dangerous. "I'm an intern, too. An let me give you a piece of advice, from one intern to another—'I'm just the intern' is _never_ an excuse."

"Look, I—"

"Who's in charge here? Lemme speak to the boss man."

"Uh—"

"Or woman."

"Y'see—"

 _"Advertising,_ dude. I want whatever idiot had the bright idea to trigger my teratophobia and give me a freakin' heart attack in a brain-dead effort to promote that moronic show. Get that sadistic chump on the phone, and do it freakin _now."_

"Uh...all right." To Darcy's satisfaction, the intern now sounds appropriately cowed. "Please hold."

Darcy holds.

Ten more minutes pass (Darcy tapping her foot impatiently the whole time) before another voice comes on the line. A woman's, this time. "Hello, you've reached Marietta Wiggins, head of advertising at Viacom, can I help you?"

"Oh, _finally,"_ Darcy mutters, more for Jane's benefit than anything else. (Jane perks up automatically.) "So you're the advertising lady?"

 _"Head_ of advertising," says Marietta Wiggins, her voice prim and snooty. "And you are...?"

"Darcy Annalise Lewis." She pronounces the name with all the propriety she can muster—which, admittedly, isn't much. "We need to talk."

"What about?"

Right away, Darcy decides she doesn't like this woman. "About that freaky ad you've got on YouTube right about now. The one where I'm told I'm gonna die if I skip it."

"Oh, that?" Wiggins laughs—a high, cold snicker. "Don't tell me you _honestly_ believed that—"

"Do you know what teratophobia is?" The question shoots out of Darcy like a venomous arrow.

"I'm sorry?"

"Teratophobia. The fear of scary, deformed monsters. Though it's also the fear of having a monster baby, so thank whatever God you pray to that I don't have _that_ problem." Darcy laughs unpleasantly. "But I do have teratophobia of the first variety, which is why I can't even watch a dam horror movie without dissolving into a puddle of panic. So _imagine_ how I feel when I'm trying to watch a cat video and _your_ ad shows up with creepy white faces threatening my life. Not. Freakin'. Cool."

"Miss Lewis, it's _horror,"_ sniffs Wiggins. "It's _supposed_ to frighten you."

"I _know_ that," snorts Darcy, her opinion of Wiggins sinking lower than she though possible.

"Then why the complaint?"

"Do the words 'I have a psychological condition and I can't freakin' _handle_ it' mean anything to you?"

"Well, if that's the case, why were you watching the advertisement in the first place?"

"I. Had. No. Choice." Darcy balls her fists in frustration and speaks through gritted teeth. "I was _trying_ to watch a cat video. Your _thing_ got in the way."

There's an uneasy pause before Wiggins speaks again. "Look, if your constitution was too weak to handle a one-and-a-half minute trailer for a fictional TV show, that's _really_ not my problem, Miss Lewis." Then, with malice dripping from her voice, "It is _Miss_ Lewis, isn't it?"

Darcy literally sees red; the world lights up in a thousand different shades of it, from crimson to scarlet to the color of blood, She knows all too well what Wiggins is implying, and the very thought makes her want to smash her phone against the wall. _I have a boyfriend, you witch,_ she wants to scream at this woman. _I'm not an unlovable troll because I can't handle your TV show._

 _Yes,_ hisses the nagging voice in the back of her mind, _but you've never_ told _Ian about your horror issue, have you?_

She ignores it.

When she speaks again, her voice struggles to stay calm, and her eyes are fixed on her curious-looking friend. "Say, _Marietta,_ have you by any chance heard of Jane Foster?"

"Jane..." Darcy can tell by Wiggins's tone that she has, in fact, heard of Jane, but the woman on the other end refuses to admit it. "I'm sorry?"

 _Oh,_ this _is gonna be fun._ "Jane Foster. The renowned astrophysicist, developer of the Foster Theory, is most likely gonna end up getting the Noble Prize at some point probably. Pretty much the greatest scientist in the whole wide world. And Thor's girlfriend," she adds as an afterthought.

A shaky pause from Wiggins, followed by a tentative "Ye-e-es...what about her?"

"I'm her best friend."

Dead. Silence.

Darcy takes the opportunity to turn to Jane and mouth _you're on in five_ at her. Jane nods, curling her fists once more in angry anticipation.

"You're...you're bluffing!" Wiggins finally replies, a slight tremor developing in her otherwise professional voice. "You aren't friends with..with _Jane Foster!"_

"Oh, you wish," Darcy sneers into the phone, her rage morphing into a sort of vengeful pleasure. "You wanna talk to her?"

"Why, you—"

"Too bad. Here she is."

And then Darcy practically shoves the phone at Jane and races out of the room.

Once safely outside, she collapses against the door and listens to the muffled sounds of Jane's anti-Viacom tirade. _"...absolutely disgusted..._ you and your sick cheap garbage dump of an ad...not a penny or a second...that's my _friend_ you insensitive clown!..."

The adrenaline rush of vengeance (with an added boost of gratitude towards Jane) is currently the only thing keeping Darcy from crumbling into a pile of rubble and self-hate.

The aftermath of this phone call—well, she'll face it when it comes.

 

Two hours later, she's flat on her bed, staring morosely at the ceiling, a parade of _stupid stupid stupid_ marching through her head.

"Hey, Darce."

It's Jane, her face still flushed and sweaty, her hair pulled back into a casual bun. She takes a seat on the edge of the bed and smiles down at her friend.

"Hey," mutters Darcy, unable to return the smile.

The grin on Jane's face vanishes like a departing ghost. "Are you all right?" she asks, her tone implying she already knows the answer.

Darcy opens her mouth, ready to say _I'm fine_ and put Jane's worries to rest, ready to go back to pretending nothing can faze her. But the trademarked Lewis grin and the words won't come, and that old country tune starts playing in her head— _I'm on my guard for the rest of the world, but with you, I know it's no good._

"I'm a mess, Janey," she whispers to the stars painted on the ceiling. "A hot mess, sure, but a big freakin' mess all the same."

Jane takes her hand and squeezes. "And good thing, too," she responds, ruffling her intern's hair with her free hand. "I could use a few more hot messes around here."

The remark melts the shard of self-loathing ice embedded in Darcy's heart, and though she's by no means there yet, she can see the horizon of okay. She might be dealing with tereatophobia and panic attacks and a clusterfreak of other issues, but at least she's got good ol' Dr. Foster to help get her through it. And believing in Jane, trusting her, knowing she'll always be there for her makes Darcy feel loads better than a Viacom vendetta of vengeance ever could.

"There's no such thing as monsters, right?" she can't help but ask.

Jane grins. "Don't worry. If there are, I'll science them away."

The thought of Jane scaring away monsters with science makes Darcy chuckle, and before long both of them have dissolved into a fit of giggles. And as she laughs along with her friend, Darcy decides that this feeling is a billion times more awesome than fear ever will be.


End file.
